


Slow and Close

by Sarahtoo



Series: Phrack Fucking Friday [30]
Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: A little late, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Flash fiction continuation, Phrack Fucking Friday, even if it's only a little bit AU, pff, summer of AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2020-04-23 03:58:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19143118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarahtoo/pseuds/Sarahtoo
Summary: A few days after their return to Melbourne, Jack has dinner with Phryne, and they pick up where they left off the morning after their plunge off the pier in Queenscliff.A continuation of the flashfic stories I wrote in April: FirstThe Nearness of Youfollowed byA Fear of Shallow Living.





	Slow and Close

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [A Fear of Shallow Living](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18455438) by [Sarahtoo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sarahtoo/pseuds/Sarahtoo). 



> So there was this flashfic challenge posed by Olderbynow and Whopooh back in April, and I managed to participate in two of the heats. I meant to come back earlier to sort of... tie up loose ends, as it were, but I forgot. Sorry, y'all! 
> 
> So this fic is not a flashfic - took me more than 2 hours for sure - and it's a day late for PFF, but it's solidly in ohrosewhatsinaname's/Allison_Wonderland's Summer of AU challenge. I'm still gonna tag it with all the things, though. XD

“Nightcap?”

Jack considered Phryne’s question seriously. It had been two days since she’d returned from Queenscliff, and they’d just finished a gourmet dinner in her dining room, romantically low lighting completed by five merrily burning candles. They’d started the evening at their usual distance—a little awkward after the heat of the kiss they’d shared while they were away—but now they leaned close together, their dessert plates empty and their wine glasses half full. His hand lay palm up on the table, and Phryne stroked his skin with one gentle fingertip. He could feel the tension in his body as her touch shivered through him, and he _wanted_.

But was it the best thing for him? For them? If he took her to bed, it could change everything. Their friendship might suffer if—more likely, when—she decided to end their sexual liaison. And the damage to his heart might be even worse. 

And yet.

He looked at her, the candlelight caressing her skin, her lips slightly parted as she waited for his answer. Her eyes held the knowledge of all the things he’d considered and a kindness that was the heart of her. She knew what she was asking, and what battle he was fighting, and she’d made the invitation anyway. The determination that had made him knock on her door that morning at the McNasters’ house rose up again inside him. He didn’t want to waste time, didn’t want to let this opportunity pass him by, even if it hurt later. It would be worth it. She was worth it.

“Actually, Miss Fisher,” he said, the words coming slowly, drawn out of him as he considered how to express his request. Her eyes flashed with disappointment, her finger stilling against his hand; he couldn’t suppress the curl at the corner of his mouth as he corrected her assumption with one of his own. He dropped his eyes to her lips, before raising them to meet hers again. “Would you mind if we just moved ahead to the next portion of the evening? As delicious as dinner was, there’s another flavor I haven’t been able to get out of my head.” 

He felt a swooping of tension in his stomach as the words left his lips. What if she’d changed her mind? Had he assumed too much?

But the smile that bloomed across her face at his words held surprise and delight and not a little lust. She met Jack’s eyes as she slid the fingertips on his hand down to his wrist, her palm flat against his, and her thumb and pinkie grasping his.

“We’ll save the whiskey for later, then,” she murmured as she stood, tugging his hand to pull him up as well.

Jack could feel his cock swell at the promise in her voice. Swallowing hard, he followed as she led him through the dining room door, into the entryway, and then up the stairs. The dress she wore was a deep red silk that lovingly skimmed her slight curves; the neckline fell in soft folds in front, just allowing her collarbones to peek out, but the folds along her back dipped nearly to her waist. As they made their way toward her boudoir, Jack allowed himself to do something he’d often wished he could: He set his hand at the nape of her neck and dragged it softly down, fascinated by the way his tanned hand seemed so dark against the porcelain-pale shade of her back. He sucked in a breath at the texture of her skin. He’d known it would be soft, but this was beyond his fantasies. He’d never considered that she’d shiver as he touched her, and that made the sensation so much better.

“Jack,” her voice was soft as she said his name, and he could do nothing but lean forward and press a kiss to the spot between her shoulder blades. 

“ _Jack._ ” As it escaped her lips, his name ached with tension. She let her head fall forward, baring the vulnerable nape of her neck, but she did not stop climbing the stairs. 

He took the silent invitation, stepping close behind her and laying his lips against her neck as they made their way toward their future. Laughing to himself at his own hyperbole, he dragged his lips along the curve between her neck and shoulder, his hand on her back sliding up to cup the other side and his thumb caressing the small knobs of her spine. He breathed her in, the scent of her perfume a bell that brought him further erect. She still held his hand, had adjusted her grip as they walked so that their fingers were entwined, their palms locked together. Reaching around, he held their clasped hands against her belly, letting her feel the length of him against her back and buttocks.

Phryne let out a soft moan, and he closed his teeth gently on the tendon that ran along the length of her neck; her moan turned into a gasp, and her purposeful steps hitched. She lifted her free hand from the banister to slide her fingers into his hair as she slowed, just two steps from the top landing.

“Don’t stop now,” Jack whispered, his voice low and raw with desire. He extended his tongue to taste her skin, loving the way the bitter tang of perfume accented her natural sweetness. “Please, Phryne.”

She let out her breath in a shuddering gust and took the last two steps at nearly a run, pulling away without releasing his hand. Turning toward her door, she looked back at him, and her wide pupils and flushed cheeks assured him that she was not trying to escape.

“You have hidden depths, Jack Robinson,” she murmured as she opened her door. 

“Not so hidden that you haven’t noticed, Miss Fisher,” he agreed wryly, glancing down at the tent in his trousers. 

Her laugh was both intimate and knowing as it rang out in the quiet hallway; he followed her through the doorway, pushing it closed behind them. A moment later, they stood beside her bed and she was pressed against him, her eyes on his as she pulled their joined hands behind herself, nestling them at the small of her back.

“I look forward to just how deep you are,” she murmured, her free hand slipping down to cup his cock through his trousers. 

Jack caught his breath at her touch—imagined so many times and finally, _finally_ real—and then leaned forward to cover that wickedly smiling mouth with his own. He groaned into her mouth as she met him eagerly, her tongue sliding against his; he lifted his free hand to slip into her hair, tilting her head so that he could fit his mouth more closely to hers as he devoured her. The kiss was warm and wet and anything but frantic—they explored each other’s mouths carefully, discovering the rough edges of teeth, the textures of inner lip and tongue, the flavors of desire.

Phryne’s hand slid from his cock up to his chest, popping open buttons on his waistcoat and shirt as it moved. Before long, she was flattening her palm against his chest with only the thin layer of his undershirt keeping her from his skin. And even that was an incomplete barrier, since she stretched her fingertips to trace the edge where cloth gave way to the light fuzz of hair on his chest.

Jack spread the fingers of the hand that she held on her back; keeping his palm on hers, he stroked downward, dragging her hand along, until he could sink his fingers into the soft pillow of her backside. When he could feel the looser fabric of her dress around her hips, he closed his fingers again, pulling her hem upward; repeating the motion—stretch, drag, pull—he inched his way closer to bare skin, her hand a willing prisoner.

The flavor of the kiss changed as Phryne began to laugh. Drawing away slightly, the sound was light and lovely, and Jack opened his eyes.

“Shall I take this off, then?” She squeezed the hand he was using to pull up her skirt, her smile bright. 

“I thought I was doing all right,” he murmured, pressing his fingers into her bottom.

“You were making great progress, inspector,” she agreed, stepping back, “but I can do better.” Releasing his hand, she crossed her arms to take hold of the dress at her hips, then—still holding his eyes—pulled it up and over her head.

Jack’s mouth went immediately dry, and whatever clarity of thought he still could lay claim to evaporated as he looked at her. She wore no brassiere, and her breasts were small and firm, her nipples peaked with desire. Her blush-colored knickers sat low, exposing her flat stomach and the divot of her belly button; long legs encased in sheer stockings ended in red suede pumps with crossed straps that made her look both dainty and wicked. Jack’s hands rose, reaching for her, wanting to touch, to taste, but Phryne held up a hand.

“Oh no, Jack Robinson,” she said, her attempt at a chiding tone mangled by a laugh. “You strip off too.” His eyes flew to hers, and she blinked, the sultry look making him even less coherent. “I think that we might not be able to stop for it again, and it’d be a shame to ruin your suit.”

He huffed out a laugh, nodding his agreement, and began shedding layers. As he did, she bent to remove her garter belt and push her knickers down, revealing a patch of black hair at the tops of her thighs. His hands moving by rote—the thought that if he didn’t get naked, she wouldn’t let him touch her the only thing keeping him moving—he devoured her with his eyes as she removed her shoes and then her stockings before turning to pull the bedcovers down, unselfconscious in her nakedness.

When he was finally down to only his trousers and undershorts, he paused. She had turned back to watch him, and the look of avarice on her face was exhilarating.

“Let me,” she said, reaching out to tuck her fingers inside both layers and push them down his hips, carefully releasing his erection. She crouched to help him step out of the fabric, then tossed both pieces in the general direction of the chaise where he’d dumped the rest of his clothing. Only in the general direction, because her eyes were on the hard length of his cock, which rose at an angle from his groin. He hissed as she wrapped first one, then two hands around it, her skin warm and soft.

“Phryne.” Her name escaped him on a groan as she stroked him from base to tip and back again, two-handed. 

“Such a mystery, Jack,” she whispered, watching the darkened head of his cock as she worked him until he couldn’t help but thrust a little between her palms. “So much to learn about you.” And she leaned in to wrap her lips around his crown.

Jack shouted in surprised pleasure, unable to keep quiet. His hands went to stroke her head, feeling the soft strands of her hair shifting over his fingers as she used her tongue on him. He threw his head back, closing his eyes to shut out any sensation but that of her wet mouth and the slide of her hands, which caressed his balls and the parts of his cock that didn’t fit when she pulled him all the way to the back of her throat. He was never going to last if she kept this up.

“Oh damn. Oh fuck. Phryne. Phryne, I’m going to…” he lifted his head, his eyelids heavy, and looked down at her. Her blue eyes seemed to glow in the dim light of the room and she met his gaze with her own, her mouth continuing to work up and down his shaft. “Phryne,” he gripped her hair as gently as he could, trying to draw her away before he spent, but she resisted, squeezing the hand she had fisted at the bottom of his cock and pressing closer. “But you… oh, hell,” she’d begun to move again, sliding away, then so close he could feel her throat muscles caressing his tip. He’d warned her where he was and she hadn’t pulled away. All that was left now was to enjoy.

And enjoy he did. The curses continued to fall from his lips—words he’d never dream of saying in the presence of a woman outside of the bedroom, but that Phryne seemed to relish. Each time he cursed, she squeezed or sucked or otherwise added a new aspect of pleasure to pile atop the sensation of her mouth on his cock. He kept his eyes open, loving the way her tongue appeared and disappeared, and how her mouth, stretched wide, received him with every indication of pleasure. When he came, it might have been an hour or only a moment later, but he curled around her head, trying not to strangle her as he pumped into her mouth.

Finally, she pulled back, the flat of her tongue drawing a warm stripe along the bottom of his cock as she released him. She stood, sliding her hands over his belly and up around his shoulders to lay her mouth against his. Jack wrapped his arms around her, humming with pleasure at the alteration of her flavor. Turning, he moved them toward the bed, laying Phryne down against the pillows and following her onto the bed without breaking the kiss. 

Prone, he swept his hand up from her waist to cover her breast, which fit perfectly into the palm of his hand, her nipple hard and insistent. Taking her bottom lip between his teeth, he watched her as he played with it, first squeezing lightly, then rolling that nipple between his fingers. Phryne’s eyes were heavy-lidded, and she arched her back to press more firmly into his hand. 

“My turn,” he growled, letting go of her mouth, and Phryne smiled. It was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen—her lipstick all but gone, her hair mussed from his hands, and her cheeks flushed a deep pink with pleasure—and his heart thundered in his chest. God, she was magnificent.

“By all means,” she purred, arching against him again, one long leg bending to open a place for him between her thighs. “Surprise me.”

Tilting his head at her in mock admonishment for her sass, Jack pressed his mouth to her neck and switched hands so that he could repeat his caresses on her other breast as he worked his way down to cover her nipple with his lips. She keened as he began to suckle, her hands working into his hair, her nails scraping lightly against his scalp. He realized, incredulous, that he was starting to get hard again—he’d been planning just to give her as many orgasms with his mouth and fingers as he could manage, but maybe he’d be able to expand their options. He closed his eyes, loving the flavor of her—a little floral and sweet, plus a hint of salt from the sweat of rising arousal.

Stomach pressing warmly against the heat of her sex, he switched breasts, licking his way between the soft mounds to scrape her nipple lightly with his teeth. Phryne gasped, and he did it again, his mouth stretching in a smile that vanished when he licked her nipple into his mouth.

She cried his name, her hips twisting against the weight of his belly; as she moved, he felt the moisture that slicked her as cool patches against his skin. He shifted his weight, continuing to squeeze and pinch her other breast while his second hand stroked down her belly to press against her mound, his thumb sliding lower to find the center of her pleasure. Pressing lightly, then working the slippery nub in a circular motion, he echoed the rhythm in the hand on her breast and the motions of his mouth and tongue. He could feel her tension building as she pressed her hips against his thumb, creating her own rhythm, her hands tugging at his hair. With one last lick of her nipple, he gently bit down as he pressed his thumb hard against her clit.

Phryne screamed as she came, her body bucking beneath his. Jack smiled against her breast—he’d attempted to lift his head, wanting to see her in all her glory, but her hands in his hair were clenched and her arms locked, keeping him close. He couldn’t bring himself to mind. He petted her gently, easing the pressure against her clit and pressing soft kisses to the flesh of her breast. Breathing in, he let his eyes flutter closed as he savored the scent of arousal that rose from her skin, musky and delicious. When she began to gently stroke his hair, he lifted his head to meet her eyes. 

“Well done, Jack,” she murmured, a smile curling the edges of her mouth.

“Oh, we’re nowhere near finished,” he replied, and watched her eyes widen as he pushed himself farther down the bed to wedge his shoulders between her legs. Raising one eyebrow, he asked permission, and when she nodded, the motion jerky, he grinned. Now for the best part.

Sliding one hand under her, he ducked his head to gently lay the flat of his tongue against her sex. He knew it was likely that her nub would be extra sensitive, so he concentrated his efforts on the area surrounding it and the entrance to her body. Moisture slicked her sex, and he feasted on her, cleaning her skin before delving inside. She began to writhe against him, only one hand in his hair now—he wondered where the other was, and glanced up to see her arm flung wide, the duvet bunched in her fist. Pleased by her reaction, he bent his head back to his task, pulling his free hand in to press a finger inside her body. 

Phryne arched at his entrance, beginning to chant his name interspersed with exclamations, some benign and others obscene. In response, Jack added a second finger and moved his tongue back up to her clit. He pumped his hand against her, paying attention to how she reacted when he touched her with the tip of his tongue. She arched and hissed, her hand in his hair pulling sharply, so he backed off, working the sides and the strip of skin between clit and pussy, curling his fingers as he withdrew to drag them along her inner walls. 

It wasn’t long before she was coming again, and by this time, Jack’s cock was so hard he had forgotten what it was like to not be aroused. As she came apart around his fingers, he raised his head, pushing against her still-clenching hand as he watched her twist and cry out with pleasure. This orgasm was not as intense as the first had been, he could tell, but it still satisfied. Her jaw clenched and her eyes squeezed shut, she lifted her head from the pillows and shook against him. He wanted, suddenly, to kiss her, to feel the pressure of her inner muscles around his cock. Perhaps she had one more orgasm in her—perhaps he did too.

Slipping his fingers free, he crawled up her body to settle his hips against hers, his cock lying along the length of her sex. Pulsing his hips, he felt her moisture coat him, slick and soft.

“Phryne?” He murmured, one hand sliding down to hitch her knee up and over his hip. He leaned in to press a soft kiss to her lips and she responded hungrily, her mouth avid under his. Hand clenching on her thigh, he noted the change in the flavor of their kisses, and his tongue slid against hers, trying to gather all of it. 

Her nails scraped down his back until her hands cupped his ass; she pulled him closer, raising her other leg to press her heel at the small of his back. 

“Inside, inside me,” she muttered against his mouth, her hips searching as they rocked against him. 

“Condom?” He slid his hand between their bodies to grasp himself, the word forcing its way through his lips though he wanted nothing more than to feel the naked heat of her clasping him, tip to base.

“Unf,” she replied, throwing her hand out to the bedside table, where a small box sat. Jack reached toward it, his longer arms succeeding in pulling the box onto the bed, where it spilled open. Snatching up a familiar packet, he covered himself, then resumed his position against her.

“Now,” she growled, accompanying the word with the scrape of her teeth along his lip. “Inside.”

He obliged, entering her body in one long thrust, unable to suppress a soft exhalation of air as he felt her close around him. Phryne’s arms wrapped around his chest and she held him close, both of them stilling as they adjusted to their new reality. Jack buried his face against her neck and felt her do the same, her lips moving gently against his skin.

“Phryne?” Her name held a host of questions—are you all right? Is this all right? Are _we_ all right?

“Jack,” she replied, her tone certain, her answers clear—more than; absolutely; and _always_. 

So Jack began to move, feeling the drag of her tissues against the length of him, his mouth wide against her neck. He heard himself murmuring against her skin, praise for her beauty, her flavor, her scent; the words changed as he sped up the tempo of his thrusts to praise her bravery, her intelligence, her very being. Her gasps and soft cries as he adjusted his angle were as much a reward as the way she said his name and the sensation of her teeth nipping at the tender skin behind his ear. 

When the coil in his belly required more torque than he could manage while covering her, Jack raised his head and then his chest, propping himself on his fists and bending his knees to drive himself inside her. He watched the bouncing of her breasts and reveled in the bite of her nails against his lower back and buttocks as she rose to meet him. 

“Yes! Yes!” Phryne was uninhibited in the noises she made, her pitch rising with each repetition. 

She lifted her knees higher as he worked until her thighs were clenching his ribcage. With a grunt, Jack paused to slip first one arm, then the other, under her knees and push them to his shoulders; when he began to move again, the new angle obviously worked for Phryne—his cock slid hard against her walls in what was apparently a very good way. She lifted her hands above her head to press against the headboard and took up her chant again, louder this time. 

“Jack, please, come now! Please, Jack! Jack!” 

As if obeying her command, Jack felt his orgasm tear through him and he threw back his head to echo it with a roar, his hips locking closely with hers as he emptied himself within her. As he pressed close, Phryne screamed and came a third time, her body shuddering and her pussy clenching around his cock, drawing out his pleasure even more. 

Exhausted, his muscles limp, Jack sagged ungracefully forward against her thighs; doing his best not to crush her, he swayed side to side as he pulled her knees from his shoulders. Her legs dropped to the bed, her heels sliding along his calves, and Phryne’s arms wrapped around him again, holding him close as he came to rest against her chest.

Long minutes later, she nudged gently against his shoulder and Jack roused. Pushing up on one elbow, he looked down at his lover—his _lover_ —and met her tender gaze with his own.

“You all right?” The words came from deep inside his chest, his tone low and intimate.

“Mmm, you shouldn’t have to ask,” she replied, lifting a hand to cup his cheek. 

He turned his head to press a smiling kiss to her palm while he dropped a hand between them to anchor the condom as he pulled out of her body. “Let me just take care of this,” he murmured, and he rolled off the bed to stride toward her bathing area and the small sink it held.

Phryne rose as well, coming up behind him as he dried his hands. She wrapped her arms around him, pressing her breasts to his back and kissing him softly between the shoulder blades, just as he had done to her on the way up the stairs. Jack shivered at the sensation and threw her an amused glance over his shoulder. 

“I’m glad you’re here, Jack,” she whispered, tilting her head to look up at him, her chin resting gently against his shoulder.

Turning in her arms, he pulled her close and leaned in to kiss her softly. “So am I, Miss Fisher.”

She laughed a little, at his use of her more formal name in such an informal setting, he thought. He couldn’t help it, though—for a long time now, “Miss Fisher” had really meant “my darling” in his mind, and if she hadn’t known it before, she likely did now.

“Stay the night?” The request was soft, small, and so very welcome.

“I’d love to,” he whispered, giving her back the wonder that he’d heard in her question.

Without a word, Phryne led him back to her wide bed with its luxurious textures and its scent of her—and now of him. Of them. He couldn’t think of anywhere he’d rather be.


End file.
